


things you said

by Windian



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 01:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10503882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windian/pseuds/Windian
Summary: A series of short Richard/Asbel ficlets based on prompts.





	1. through your teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Short fics based on prompts from this meme: http://ficmemes.tumblr.com/post/157487240464/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a

You've known for a long time there's something wrong with you.

It's one thing to speak to oneself. It's another entirely when those thoughts speak back.

Ever since the assault of Wallbridge, it's been harder than ever to unpick where those thoughts end and your own begin.

Asbel's pounding at your door is blood thrumming at your ears, incessant and unceasing. Please, Asbel implores, couldn't the two of you just talk?

You stay silent, hunched in yourself, legs curled up to your chest on the bed and hand clamped around your mouth to stop the words that don't belong to you from spilling out.

And besides, the only reason he wants to be close to you is to use you, anyway, just like everybody else--

 _I told you, go away_! you shout, and the knocking ceases.

_I... won't bother you any further, then, Ri-- your Highness._

Your heart catches at Asbel's slip, at the slow dejected footfalls as your friend retreats. You bite down on the soft skin of your palm to stop yourself from calling out to him to come back, to apologise, that none of those things you said were really _you_. Asbel is special, more special than anyone, and maybe he'd even understand if you told him about you, the _other you_ that sleeps inside of you. But the blood is still thrumming out the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, and his footsteps fade away.

Later, when fitful sleep finally makes its claim, you dream of being twelve years old on Lhant Hill again. The boughs of the great tree keen and creak in the wind, twisting a star-studded cradle over your head. You kiss Asbel, and it's soft and wonderful, like sinking into a pool full of sunshine.

Except you're also in the catacombs, and you can't breathe. You can't breathe, and the poison feels like ice and fire in your veins. Asbel's still kissing you, and you're suffocating. You push him away, yet he clings and cloys-- you claw for air--

And Asbel is dead on the ground of the catacombs, eyes blank and unseeing as still water on a moonless night.

 

The next morning, you make your instructions to Dalen. Asbel must distance himself from the prince.

You can still hear the pounding at the door, the blood in your ears; a knock you cannot answer. Asbel's not safe around you. Not anymore.

 


	2. when you were asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from thereafter, Richard vowed to sleep alone

Something had been bothering Sophie.

Sat around the table for breakfast at the Enclave inn with all her friends, she decided to voice it.

“Richard, you were talking in your sleep last night.”

Opposite the table from her, the King looked up from his breakfast of eggs and weak watered down coffee– apparently, and sadly, tea wasn’t a thing at the Enclave. “Oh? Was I? I’m afraid it’s always been a habit of mine.” His brow crinkles in apology. “I hope I didn’t keep you up.”

She shook her head. “You sounded like you were having an interesting dream. You said, ‘That’s not fair, the turtlez should be allowed in the egg and spoon race, too.'”

“Did I?” he said, a little absently.

Beside her, Asbel snorted. “Wow, Richard. Your dreams sound more interesting than mine. I just keep having the same one about forgetting my sword.”

“ _We—ll,_ dreams can hold subconscious hidden meaning, y'know!” Pascal exclaimed.

“Subconscious?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah! So maybe like Richard’s dreaming about egg and spoon races because, I dunno, he’s super hungry for eggs.” She gestured with a grandiose flick of her spoon to the salted hard boiled eggs on Richard’s plate. “Voila! Hypothesis proved.”

A smile tugged at Richard’s mouth. “I think you may well have cracked the shell of my psyche, Pascal.”

“ _Well_ , everyone tells me I’m egg-cellent at reading people.”

Down the table, there was a small but definite groan from Cheria.

Pascal really was amazing! Sophie leaned over the table, all elbows and excitement. “And what about Asbel’s dream?”

Pascal pressed a thoughtful spoon to her chin. “Clearly, Asbel’s dream is the result of an anxious and horribly disorganized mind.”

“Uh, I’m right here, you know,” said Asbel. Sophie patted him on the hand.

“Your skills of deduction really are eggceptional, Pascal. I’m impressed,” said Malik, with the  worst kind of grin.

“Captain. Please,” Asbel implored, before this madness could go any further.

“Richard said some other things too that I didn’t understand,” Sophie said, looking up at Richard, who suddenly seemed very interested in the novelty chicken salt pot.

“Hit me,” said Pascal.

“Well… for some reason he said Asbel’s name a lot. I was worried, because it sounded like he was in pain…”

Richard was still smiling, but now the smile seemed rather fixed on. He’d also gone quite pale.

“And then he said, 'Asbel, I want your–”

There was a crash, as the chicken saltpot Richard had been fiddling with slipped from his fingers and hit the table, smashing into bits.

Cheria dropped her spoon. Hubert looked as though he was physically in pain. Malik, however, looked like he was trying very hard not to smile.

Sophie, obvious to the bomb she’d dropped, leaned eagerly over the table. “So Pascal, what does it mean?”

Asbel seemed unaware that his jaw was hanging loose. He stared at Richard, a twinkling of distant comprehension dawning behind his eyes. Richard meanwhile was trying to look anywhere _but_ Asbel.

“I’m not sure there’s any secret hidden meaning behind that one, Sophie,” the Captain said with a hearty chuckle, taking a long draught of his coffee. “Now about about we get to today’s itinerary, and let his Majesty finish his breakfast…”


End file.
